


The Hardest Part

by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)



Series: Hard Promises [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcoholic Tony Stark, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brief Mention of Past Threesome, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Getting Back Together, Healing, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Love, M/M, Recovery, Rhodey Is a Good Bro, Self-Acceptance, Self-Destruction, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Content, Tony Angst, Tony Feels, Tony Has Issues, Tony Hits His Bottom, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Takes Care of Himself, Tony-centric, Using Sex as an Escape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-01 00:44:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3999460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqen_hgar/pseuds/Finely%20Honed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span class="small">Prompt: Give me all the angst and pain with an eventual happy ending, please!</span>
</p><p>The panic over what had happened didn’t get its hooks in him until he was halfway home, but when it finally hit it didn’t pull any punches. Tony swerved out of the steady flow of traffic, popped on the hazards, and had a full on freak out behind his steering wheel. On the upside, it was dark out, and he had tinted windows. Of course, he was also sitting in a vehicle worth more than the building it was parked in front of, too distracted by trying to remember how to breathe to do anything practical, like defend himself from an ambitious villain.</p><p>It’d been an emotional day, so the reality of having a breakdown wasn’t nearly as shocking as the reason why he was having one. He was used to crying over Bucky Barnes, but under much different circumstances. He was irrationally irritated with himself, because the proper timing would have been back at Bucky’s, either after realizing Steve had pulled a fast one on him, or after agreeing to give their relationship—whatever was left of it—another chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hardest Part

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Potrix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/gifts).



> This is technically part of the [Imagine Tony & Bucky](http://archiveofourown.org/series/227312) series, but since there were already 3 stories in this AU I decided to give it a series of its own.
> 
> Happy Birthday, Potrix!!

The panic over what had happened didn’t get its hooks in him until he was halfway home, but when it finally hit it didn’t pull any punches. Tony swerved out of the steady flow of traffic, popped on the hazards, and had a full on freak out behind his steering wheel. On the upside, it was dark out, and he had tinted windows. Of course, he was also sitting in a vehicle worth more than the building it was parked in front of, too distracted by trying to remember how to breathe to do anything practical, like defend himself from an ambitious villain.

It’d been an emotional day, so the reality of having a breakdown wasn’t nearly as shocking as the reason  _why_  he was having one. He was used to crying over Bucky Barnes, but under much different circumstances. He was irrationally irritated with himself, because the proper timing would have been back at Bucky’s, either after realizing Steve had pulled a fast one on him, or after agreeing to give their relationship—whatever was left of it—another chance.

Instead of losing it, he’d followed Bucky around the corner to a sandwich shop, had ordered some lunch, and had a meal together. Tony had smiled, had probably even flirted a little out of habit, had listened when Bucky told him about his therapist, and the group meetings, and had made supportive comments, feeling sick to his stomach the entire time.

He hadn’t lied. He loved Bucky. He wanted their life back, desperately. He was also, as he’d explained, still mad.

Mad probably wasn’t the right word. Mad was how he’d felt the time an eighteen year old Bucky accidentally knocked his phone into traffic because he was paying more attention to a leggy blond that’d strolled by than to where he was walking. There had been an apology issued, and lots of swearing that looking didn’t count, and later that same day they were laughing about it when telling Steve what’d happened.

Tony wasn’t going to be laughing about this anytime soon. Actually, he was kind of sobbing uncontrollably, holding onto the steering wheel, his head bowed as he shook and tried to stop, and failed miserably.

Part of him was ecstatic. Bucky still loved him, and hearing him say it had almost taken his legs out from under him. Relief, gratitude, happiness. Check ‘em all off the list. There was also disbelief, anger, shame, guilt, and a healthy dose of pessimism.

They’d sat together, and Tony had eaten all the cucumbers from Bucky’s salad, while Bucky snagged fries from his plate, and it’d been just like old times. Maybe  _that_  was the problem. Bucky was acting like they were just picking right back up where they’d left off, no hard feelings. And again, part of Tony wanted to do that, but at the same time, he didn’t know how much he could trust what was happening with Bucky.

Bucky had told him he’d never loved him, then  _made him believe it_ , apparently out of concern for Tony. Bucky had wanted him to get on with his life, and so Tony had. Probably not in the way Bucky had expected. Or maybe it was? How the hell was he supposed to know, anyway? He’d thought he’d known Bucky better than he knew himself, but the accident had certainly proved him wrong on that front.

How were they supposed to pick up where they had left off when Tony was terrified of doing or saying something that’d result in Bucky shutting him out again?

Wiping at his face, Tony took a deep breath, and punched his steering wheel hard enough to split his knuckles and crack the surface of the wheel itself. Then he hit it again, and once or twice more after that, until the white hot pain in his hand washed away everything else. Sighing in relief, he took another moment or two for himself, then turned off the hazards, and got back on the road.

Bucky had asked a few questions during lunch. How was Pepper, how was Rhodey, how was business. He hadn’t asked if Tony had been seeing anyone, and so Tony had kept quiet on that front. Bucky might not want to hear the answer.

There was no mention of the last time they’d been together. Bucky didn’t ask how Tony had spent the rest of that day, which was probably a good thing. He’d gone out and bought a motorcycle exactly like the one Bucky had wrecked, then proceeded to smash it to pieces with the various tools in his shop, all while screaming and crying. He didn’t often have tantrums, but when he did they tended to be expensive ones.

Once he was physically and emotionally drained, Tony had hit the liquor cabinet hard, calling Ty about halfway through in order to finally accept his offer of dinner. Ty had shown up at his place within the hour, but they hadn’t bothered with dinner.

“You just need to get back on the horse, Stark,” Ty had sworn. “Two years is a long time to wait for someone clearly too stupid to know they’re passing up a good thing.”

Which was true. Didn’t make it any easier, but it was hard to argue with Ty, especially since he’d been saying the same thing since he’d learned Bucky and Tony had separated. Knowing it was true didn’t help anything in the least.

That night, he’d been drunk enough and emotionally devastated enough to say yes when Ty propositioned him for the hundredth time.

“No kissing,” Tony had insisted, and Ty had just laughed.

He’d also winked, and gotten on his knees. Tony had closed his eyes, but even in his drunken haze there was no pretending this was Bucky. Ty gave head like someone that had done a lot of field research, while Bucky sucked cock like Tony’s was the only one he’d ever wrapped his lips around. Probably because it was.

And when he’d started crying after, Ty surprisingly hadn’t bitched about not getting off. He’d sighed, and given Tony a half hearted hug, then brought him a glass of water and made him go to bed. He’d left a note informing Tony that he fully expected a return on his investment, along with a proposed outline of how their arrangement might work. Tony had made some adjustments, then sent the revised version to Ty as if it was all just another contract negotiation.

They weren’t in love, and that was a relief. Being in love was what had fucked him over in the first place; he couldn’t handle love, didn’t want it or need it. He was done with love.

Tiberius Stone might not love him, but at least he was honest about it. He liked Tony, and not just for his body—Ty was no dummy, and normal people tended to bore him quickly. Tony wasn’t boring, wasn’t after his bank accounts, and it would be an absolute hoot watching the paparazzi lose their minds trying to get exclusive photos of the two of them up to no good together.

Their arrangement was pretty straight forward. If one or the other of them decided to fuck someone else—be it a one off or perhaps a longer engagement—they only had to inform the other party. No kissing, unless Tony wanted to add that back in, and in exchange Tony wasn’t allowed to talk about Bucky anymore. If the circumstances were right, either was open to introducing a third party (male or female) to an evening’s entertainment. And that was about it.

Love hadn’t come anywhere near the arrangement, unless you counted all the love packed up tight within the emotional the baggage Tony was carrying around with him since Bucky’s accident. He’d been a couple months shy of seventeen when he’d started dating Bucky, and he’d been faithful to him right up until the night Ty went down on him.

He liked sex. Even when everything else sucked, orgasms still felt nice. He liked feeling another person’s body against his own, liked bringing someone pleasure, liked receiving pleasure. At sixteen, he’d already been around the block a few times. Bucky hadn’t exactly been a virgin himself. He’d gone all the way with exactly two girls, and had jerked a guy off once.

Tony had been Bucky’s first for a great number of sexual things, while Bucky had been his first for everything and anything involving love and a committed relationship; he’d stupidly hoped he’d be the last. Their sex life had been good, even if Bucky was sometimes sweet and tender to a fault. So, to say it was surreal and borderline disturbing having sex with someone else after Bucky was the understatement of the century. Ty was more than ready, willing, and able to help him get back into the swing of things, though.

Tony would be lying if he said it was better. Physically, sure. Ty was one hell of a wildcat in bed, and Tony had no complaints in the orgasm department, but he missed the playful, deeply affectionate side of things. He missed the amazed, appreciative, and adoring look Bucky always had in his eyes any time they did anything physical. He missed kissing. He missed snuggling. He missed Bucky.

Drinking helped. So did drugs. And after a bit of time, as he became more numb, he even convinced himself he was having fun.

Ty wasn’t Bucky, and they weren’t in love, but Tiberius was honest, and he was part of Tony’s life now. He still wasn’t sure what his lunch with Bucky actually meant. He claimed to want to get back together, and that he was willing to do things however Tony wanted, was willing to wait, but would he still feel the same way if he knew what Tony had been up to? And when Bucky dumped him again, would Ty want to resume their arrangement? Would Tony even be in any sort of shape to do something like that? They’d only had lunch and he was falling to pieces over the idea of fucking it up as much as he was freaking out over the thought of switching gears, and going back to what they had.

He’d hoped to have a bit of time to think, but when he walked into his penthouse Ty was already there, drinks on the table in front of him, and a smile on his face.

“You’re late.”

“For what?” He tossed his jacket over the back of a chair and accepted the tumbler of scotch Ty offered.

“To the party,” Ty said patiently, smirking as Tony held his glass out for a refill. “There we go, Stark, catch up.”

“Don’t feel like going out tonight,” he said, setting his second empty glass down on the table before heading for the bathroom.

“Fine by me,” Ty called after him.

He looked like shit. It was obvious he’d been crying, not that Ty would have asked him about it even if he’d walked in sobbing. After all, it wasn’t that sort of arrangement.

Tony washed his face, then took care of cleaning up his hand, which was throbbing painfully. He didn’t think he’d broken anything, but it looked sort of awful. He’d have to keep an eye on it, get it checked out in the morning. Maybe put some ice on it.

He popped his glasses back on, only to take them back off again, leave them behind. He wasn’t really in the mood to see clearly, anyway.

Ty had a fresh glass waiting for him when he went back out, along with a strange little smile. “Ask me how my day was.”

Tony emptied his glass, grimacing, then accepted the mirror and rolled up bill Ty handed over, rolling his eyes at the banality of it all. “How was your day?” he asked, not particularly caring about the answer as he snorted a line. “That’s not coke.”

“Nope, it is not. My day was  _good_ , Tony. Made a breakthrough, and I’m ready to celebrate.”

Tony dutifully snorted the other two lines waiting for him, then handed everything back over before flopping down on the couch. Warmth was flooding through his body along with a welcome sort of euphoria. He leaned over to throw some more ice cubes in his glass, poured himself a refill, then just held it in his swollen hand. Whatever he’d taken was already helping with the pain, and the ice in his glass was almost like actually putting ice on the injury. Close enough, anyway.

“Good for you.”

Ty didn’t ask about his day, and Tony wasn’t really ready to break one of their rules of engagement by discussing Bucky. He needed some more time to ruminate on all of that.

“I’ve been waiting for an hour,” Ty complained, unzipping his pants.

He was already hard, and Tony suspected whatever he’d snorted had a bit to do with that. Once upon a time, he might have asked what it was Ty had just given him, but he didn’t have the strength to care. Whatever it was had him feeling like his body was on a totally different planet than his heart and mind, which was exactly what he needed.

With a sigh of resignation, Tony set his glass down, and let Ty grab a fistful of hair, not bothering to resist when he was shoved downward, opening his mouth obediently and getting to work. As far as distractions went, it was pretty good. The drugs coursing through his system had him feeling like his skin was on fire in the best possible way, which made it easy to lose himself to sensation.

Tony just went with it, letting Ty take over, grab him and guide his movements, his mind a million miles away. He knew he was rubbing himself against the couch, was making some absolutely filthy sounds as Ty picked up the pace, and all of that was fine right up until Ty got too caught up in the moment. One minute he was blissed out, the next he was choking. A little choking was fine, but Ty was going at him rather relentlessly, and when Tony tried to pull away, Ty only held on tighter, thrust deeper into Tony’s throat, refusing to let him up. Tony began shoving, and when that didn’t work he bit down.

“What’s your problem?”

Tony glared at him, coughing and wheezing the whole time, the euphoria taking a backseat to a combination of unwanted anxiety and anger. Ty was flushed all over, his hard, wet cock jutting from his pants while he glared at Tony as if he’d just committed some horrible social faux pas. Normally, Tony thought he was handsome, but at that particular moment he looked so arrogant that it made him ugly.

“I’m bored,” Tony snarled, snatching up his drink, wincing at the burn as he swallowed. He wasn’t going to give Ty the satisfaction of letting him see how uncomfortable he was.

Ty laughed at this, and Tony surprised himself by joining in. The euphoria was creeping back around the edges, the unnatural upness of his mood feeling dangerous, everything warring with the arousal pounding through his system.

“I think we can do something about that,” Ty suggested, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

In retrospect, Tony probably should have taken it all as a sign that the evening wasn’t going to end well.

+

Tony woke with a gasp, sputtering in shock, shaking and coughing, his heart racing and his mind scrambling to figure out what the hell was going on. Rhodey was standing over him, still holding what looked to be an emptied vase. Now that he was waking up, Tony realized he was cold and wet.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

Rhodey’s eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”

Tony blinked up at the ceiling, trying to will the room to stop spinning. He felt awful. No, scratch that, because awful was how he’d felt when he’d gotten home in the first place. He felt like he’d died, and it just hadn’t caught up with him yet. His head was pounding, his heart was racing, his stomach was lurching, and that was just the hangover.

As if he’d been rebooted, while the adrenaline left his system parts of his body began checking in with his brain, and the reports weren’t particularly reassuring. Breathing hurt. There was a sharp, stabbing pain whenever he tried to take a deep breath. With the way his hand was feeling he’d definitely broken something. His sinuses were on fire, and there was a blinding pain right between his eyes. It went well with all the other aches and pains. It felt like someone had carved up his back, but that wasn’t nearly as bothersome as further south. Someone, or possibly multiple someones, had fucked him, and hadn’t been gentle about it. He was pretty sure he was still naked, but it was hard to tell for certain without moving, which sounded like an awful idea.

“Hey, Tony,” and Rhodey sounded far less angry, and way more concerned. “Tony?”

He blinked slowly. “Hm. Yeah?”

There was the sound of glass crunching underfoot as Rhodey came into his line of sight. “I’m gonna help you up, okay?”

Which sounded fine until it happened. “Ow, fuck, stop,” he hissed, but Rhodey adjusted his grip, taking on more of Tony’s weight and not stopping until he was upright again.

Unable to help himself, he fell forward against Rhodey’s chest, and held on tight, closing his eyes. Rhodey made a little hissing noise of displeasure, but then he carefully curled his hand around the back of Tony’s head, fingers scrubbing through Tony’s hair as if he was petting a cat. It took a moment before he realized Rhodey was looking for lumps or maybe a wound of some sort.

“What’re you doing here?” Tony asked, even as he continued holding on for dear life.

“I’m here because I love you,” Rhodey answered, and whatever else he had planned after that didn’t matter, because Tony immediately burst into tears.

He had no idea how long he was crying. At some point he came back to himself. He was seated on the couch, wearing pajama bottoms and a bathrobe, a mug of something warm and steaming placed in front of him next to a large glass of water. He reached for the water with his right hand, only to hiss in pain and switch to the left. His hand was incredibly swollen.

“Don’t think for a second this means we’re not going to the hospital,” Rhodey said softly as he sat down beside Tony. “What the hell happened to you, man?”

Tony swallowed the last of his water, and squeezed his eyes shut. Some of the night before was coming back to him in waves, but there were large chunks of nothing at all mixed in with the flashes of memory. Ty calling some guy they’d met at a club a week or two ago. More drugs, more drinking. There was a very good reason why he felt like he’d been fucked with a battering ram; he’d asked Ty and club guy to do him at the same time.

There had also been a fight later in the evening, and he was pretty sure he was the one responsible for that. Club guy—a pretty brunette with pale eyes—had kissed him, and he’d hauled off and decked him. Then kept hitting him, probably with his injured hand, considering the way it looked and felt now compared to the night before. He had a vague recollection of Ty pulling him off the guy, and maybe  _that_ was when he’d gone through the glass coffee table, cracked his rib, and gotten all the cuts in his back.

He also had a hazy recollection of laughing uncontrollably as Ty threw wads of cash at club guy and threatened to destroy him if he tried to cause any trouble over what had happened. But he wasn’t sure why he’d wound up back on the floor, or who’d given him the black eye or the split lip, because club guy hadn’t actually gotten any shots in when Tony was whaling on him. He’d either done that himself somehow, or Ty had hit him. His money was on Ty, because he had an even hazier memory of them screaming at each other.

Tony knew enough to answer Rhodey’s question, but when he opened his mouth what he said was, “I saw Bucky yesterday.”

“Shit.” Rhodey pulled him into a hug, being so gentle about it that just the consideration he was exhibiting had the tears flowing again. “You just ran into him, or what?”

Tony ignored the physical discomfort of the embrace as best he could, needing someone’s arms around him. “Steve set it up. Lied to me. I walked right into it.”

“That little shit,” Rhodey snapped. “I thought he…”

“No, he was… He was trying to help, really. Honest.” It was too hard to breathe, so Tony reluctantly extracted himself from the embrace, relieved when Rhodey kept a hand on his shoulder. “Bucky wanted to apologize. Said he still loves me.”

“I hope you told him to go fuck himself.” Tony felt his mouth quirk up, even as he ducked his head. “Tone.” When Tony still wouldn’t look at him, Rhodey made an all too familiar noise of exasperation. “You’re taking him back, aren’t you?”

“We’re, um… The plan I proposed at the end of last year? We’re doing that.”

Rhodey was quiet for a moment, then he leaned over, grabbed the mug, and placed it in Tony’s good hand. It was hot chocolate, and the warmth and sweetness almost made him cry again. “So you’re taking him back.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Tony snapped.

“Well, that much is obvious.”

“He apologized.”

“Oh, good, after eight years he cuts you out of his life the minute things get difficult, then when you finally get to confront him about it, he straight up tells you he didn’t love you. But he said he’s sorry, so I guess that’s fine.”

Tony shoved the mug of hot chocolate at Rhodey, then struggled to his feet. Everything fucking hurt.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

It was a good question. He didn’t have a particular destination in mind, was just thinking up and away. “Figured I’d get dressed. Head into work.”

“If you think I’m letting Pepper, or anyone else at SI see you like this, you are  _insane_.”

“Fine, the shop, then.”

Rhodey set the mug down, and approached Tony as if he was a cornered, wounded animal. “Hey, it’s okay. We don’t have to talk about Bucky,” Rhodey reassured him. “We can just get you patched up, worry about everything else later. Okay?”

Relief washed through him, and Tony nodded, the room swimming a bit. “I’m sorry,” he said, and once he started saying it, it was hard to stop. Rhodey held him as tightly as he could without hurting him, kept telling Tony it was okay all the way to the hospital.

+

There were uncomfortable conversations with nurses and doctors and probably some other people over whether he felt safe at home, and whether or not he’d been sexually assaulted, and whether or not he wanted to press charges against anyone. Considering the state he was in, he didn’t blame them. Some of the nurses didn’t believe him, took Rhodey aside and had some quiet conversations in the hallway.

“Do you have my phone with you?” Tony asked out of nowhere while someone stitched up one of the nastier cuts on his back.

“Who are you calling?”

Tony licked his lips. “No one. Just wanted to check the messages.”

Reluctantly, Rhodey handed it over, and hovered while Tony looked through his texts. His stomach plunged down through his body, leaving him lurching forward slightly before he righted himself with the help of Rhodey’s steadying hand.

“Bucky?”

Tony shook his head, looking at the message that had been sent around 6 am.  _Last night was a breach of contract. You’re too fucked up to fuck, Stark. Liability much? Don’t bother calling unless you get your shit together._

“Ty. Looks like that’s over.”

Rhodey huffed. “Good. The guy is an asshole, and you’ve been a mess since you started spending time with him.”

Tony chuckled, even though it was true. “Don’t you mean  _more_  of a mess?”

Because he was a good friend, Rhodey didn’t respond. He just ran his fingers back and forth across a bit of Tony’s arm that wasn’t stitched, or bruised, or currently in a cast. He might be too nice to say anything, but Rhodey had to agree with him, because he was most definitely a mess.

Being in the hospital wasn’t helping with his state of mind any, either. The last time he’d been in one had been when Bucky crashed his motorcycle. He’d almost crashed himself in his rush to get to the hospital, would forever have the image of Steve burned into his mind; hunched over and looking enormous in one of the little emergency room waiting area chairs, his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking. The terrified look in his eyes when he’d finally raised his head, and spotted Tony.

A large, terrified part of him expected Bucky to die, just like his parents had, just like Obie had a year later. They’d spent hour after endless hour waiting for news, holding hands when they weren’t pacing or badgering people for information. Bucky’s condition had been critical when he’d been brought in, and they’d had to spend a good bit of time stabilizing him before they could get him into surgery. Steve and Tony had each offered to donate blood, donate organs if necessary, but ultimately they’d found themselves playing the waiting game before getting to head to recovery.

Bucky had looked impossibly small and young and entirely too still for Tony’s liking. He hardly heard what the doctors were saying, too busy noting the various feeds and leeds coming off of him, tethering him to the machines. He was intubated, and unconscious, and they’d cut off his left arm about two inches above where his elbow had been. It was absolutely heartbreaking, but Tony was so impossibly relieved and grateful that Bucky was still alive that he was having a hard time mourning the loss of his arm.

Because he was who he was, he’d immediately begun looking into prosthetics, bionic limb technologies, and thinking of ways he could improve upon what currently existed. He and Steve had countless conversations on the topic, the artist and the engineer conspiring to find a way to make the man they loved whole again.

After the endless hell of waiting and worrying and praying to gods he didn’t even believe in, the last thing Tony expected when Bucky woke up was to have him refuse to look him in the eyes. To have him pull away when Tony touched him, to shake, and shout, and demand Tony leave.

Steve had been just as confused, had tried to talk Bucky into being reasonable, but that hadn’t done much good. Bucky would shut down, would turn away as best he could whenever Tony was in the room, would only reply to anything he said with suggestions that he go back to work, or go home.

It had been devastating and infuriating, and he’d figured after a day or two Bucky would change his mind, so he just hung back a bit. Whenever Bucky was sleeping, which was frequently, he’d slip into the room and watch him, would stroke his hair as gently as possible, would lean in, close his eyes, and just breathe in the scent of him.

At some point, Bucky was so stressed out over the idea of Tony seeing him in that state, that the nurses took him aside and let him know as gently as possible that the love of his life had insisted he be barred from his hospital room. They’d been very nice about the crying jag this caused, one of them spending some time sitting with him, explaining that they saw this sometimes with recent amputees. That he needed to give Bucky time, and things would get better.

Maybe Bucky  _had_  gotten better; he really had no way of knowing, because he’d been cut out of his life. Tony hadn’t gotten better. Tony had been getting steadily worse every minute of every day since the last morning he’d woken up with Bucky in bed beside him. JARVIS had helpfully provided the video feed of that day, which he watched over and over again, just to remind himself that he hadn’t imagined the life he used to call his own.

The loneliness had been crippling. Pepper and Rhodey had done their best to keep him sane, but there was only so much they could be expected to do. He started drinking more, sleeping less, throwing himself into work as much as possible to try to distract himself from how painfully empty his life had become.

During the first year or so, he and Steve had regularly scheduled lunches, until Tony couldn’t take seeing the sad little pinched expression Steve got on his face right before telling Tony that Bucky still wasn’t ready to see him. Bucky would talk to him on the phone sometimes, but eventually that stopped, too. Everything and everyone around him seemed to move on, while he remained stuck in the past, while he struggled to get through his day.

Running into Ty again had been a fluke, some awards ceremony that Pepper insisted he attend. They’d been talking, and Ty had extended his condolences, for some reason under the impression that Bucky had died in the crash. He’d only half listened when Tony explained the situation, sugar coating things as much as possible.

“So you’re just waiting around for him? Doesn’t sound like the Stark I remember.”

Ty didn’t bother hiding his interest in fucking Tony again. Lots of jokes about wanting to compare and contrast between Tony at fifteen and Tony at twenty-six. He wasn’t interested, though. He just wanted his old life back.

The days went on, and when one afternoon he found himself thinking that it probably would have hurt less if Bucky had actually died, Tony realized he needed to do something. He couldn’t keep going through the motions of his life the way he had been.

Eventually, he’d come up with the “oh, we seem to have run into each other, how surprising,” plan, executed it, and then wished he hadn’t. At least before he could  _pretend_ there was hope.

“Tony?”

“I’m tired, Rhodey.”

Rhodey began stroking his hair, which was nice. “I know you are,” he said, taking the phone back. “Does he have any idea what it’s been like for you?”

Tony sniffed. “He knows it was hard.”

“Tony.”

“Nothing specific, no.” Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat. “He’ll change his mind if I tell him.”

“If he does, then all he’s doing is proving he doesn’t deserve you. And if you can’t even be honest with him about how badly he hurt you then you have no business getting involved with him again!”

Rhodey was right, but there was no way Tony was backing out on their arrangement. He just needed to get over it, focus on the future.

Except, when he was finished getting all of his stitches, he realized that between his back, and the rib, and his hand, and the pain pills he couldn’t handle dressing on his own, which resulted in another crying jag as Rhodey helped him.

“You can’t keep doing this,” he insisted. “The only reason I found you when I did was because JARVIS called me when he couldn’t wake you up.” Tony didn’t know what to do with the shame and guilt this dredged up. “What happens when you do this somewhere else? Or with someone else? You’ve known Ty for  _years_  and the dude left you bleeding and unconscious on the floor. I thought you were dead when I walked in!”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your apology, Tony, I want you to start caring about what happens to you.”

Rhodey handed him his phone, and went to talk to the nurses. Tony stared at it, chewing at his lower lip until he came to a decision, and sent a text off to Bucky. Two minutes later he had a reply.

Tony didn’t say anything until they were in the car. “I need you to take me here,” he instructed, entering the address into Rhodey’s GPS.

“Why am I taking you anywhere but home?”

“Because you’re right. I need… I need to be honest with him, and so he’s meeting me at this diner.”

“Now?”

“In about twenty minutes.” Rhodey looked apoplectic. “Hey, don’t you want him to see all the gory details? I can’t explain this away, or play it down.”

“I’m sticking around,” Rhodey insisted. “Non-negotiable.”

“I want you to. But, um. I’d rather you waited outside.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Which was good enough for Tony. It meant Rhodey was taking him where he needed to go, so he fished out his phone and used the car ride to do some research.

Bucky was already there when they arrived. Rhodey knocked on the glass and gave him a dirty look, which might have been funny under different circumstances. As it was, Rhodey’s interruption meant Tony was already at the table by the time Bucky turned back around.

“Holy shit,” he said, jumping to his feet. Tony found himself taking a step back when Bucky tried to touch him, ignoring the little flicker of hurt that passed across his face. “Were you mugged?”

Bucky’s concern intensified as he watched Tony awkwardly and gingerly lower himself into the booth. By the time he was situated, he’d broken out in a cold sweat, and felt a little like he might pass out. With everything that had been happening, he actually hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before. Even then he’d had a hard time getting it all down, too nervous over sitting opposite Bucky again. Now that he could smell the greasy diner food he realized he was starving.

He flagged down the waitress, ignoring her wide eyed reaction to his appearance as he ordered a Reuben, onion rings, and offered her a hundred bucks if she could bring him an entire pot of coffee and two slices of whichever pie was her favorite while he waited for the sandwich. When she laughed, he pulled out his wallet and peeled off a bill.

“Tony, what the hell is going on?”

He allowed himself a moment to enjoy his mouthful of pie before washing it down with his coffee, then shoveled in another two forkfuls before finally answering. “Rhodey thought it was important for you to actually see what it is you’re dealing with.”

This seemed only to confuse Bucky further. “You might think it does, but that doesn’t make sense. Tony, seriously, what happened?”

“You cut me out of your life,” he snapped, wincing as one or two people nearby turned their heads over the raised voice. Grinding his teeth, he took a deep breath, then tried again. “Three months, six days, and give or take five hours ago would have been our tenth year together, Buck. Wanna know how I celebrated our anniversary?”

Bucky’s eyes were wide and vulnerable, and Tony half expected for him to say no, or get up and leave, but instead he sat up a little straighter and nodded.

“Went to Amsterdam, did enough coke I actually thought I was having a heart attack, then did more after that.” He wasn’t sure how he was mustering the fake mirth. “All while having some pretty amazing sex with these fraternal twins Ty picked up along the way.”

Tony paused to finish his first slice of pie, then started working on the second. Doing everything with his left hand was awkward, and he hated the twinge of sympathy he felt for Bucky in that moment. He glanced up, then quickly looked away again, uncomfortable with the mix of horror and sadness he could see in Bucky’s eyes.

“I also spent at least two hours on the roof of the hotel, weighing the pros and cons of jumping,” he added, whatever fake cheer he’d mustered slipping away. “I opted not to, in case you were wondering.”

“Fuck.”

It was the fear in Bucky’s voice that got him, and Tony looked up in time to see him swipe at his eyes. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel like shit,” Tony said softly. “I’m telling you because… Hey, remember how you told me you weren’t the man I knew? Well, I think you are. I look at you, and I listen to you talk, and I think to myself that if it weren’t for the arm, and the seriousness, it’d be like nothing had changed.” Bucky tensed up, but Tony didn’t give him a chance to talk. “Me though? I’m probably not the man you knew. I wasn’t mugged. I beat the shit out of my steering wheel after our little lunch date yesterday, then went home and immediately got fucked up with Ty.”

This time, Bucky looked hurt and angry, which shouldn’t have been satisfying. “Did he do this to you?”

“Some of it, maybe. Mostly I did it to myself,” Tony explained, pausing to smile up at the waitress, thanking her again for the pie and he took his sandwich. The sugar and caffeine was already helping him feel more alive. “I seem to have had my heart broken. That part was your fault, but the rest of it was all me. There are all sorts of ways to deal with pain. I opted for drowning mine in booze, drugs, and sex. S’not working out too great, currently.”

Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face, and struggled for a moment before speaking. “I don’t understand how you can be so… so matter of fact about what you’re saying.”

“It’s because I can’t bring myself to care. Bucky, I’ve been in pain for so long now that I’m surprised I can feel  _anything_  anymore.” Tony chewed slowly, savoring, before taking another sip of coffee. “You said you wanted me back. Last night I did a shitload of drugs, fucked two men, then assaulted one of them. Possibly both of them. Sorry I can’t be more specific; there are large gray areas where memories should be. That’s who I am now. Still want me back?”

Tony waited, trying to for casual and chipper, even as his food churned in his stomach, and his hands shook. If Bucky walked out the door, that had to be it. For good, this time. He’d move to the West Coast, get into a recovery program over there, and see if he could scrape together something from whatever was left of his life.

As he watched, Bucky reached across the table, the movement slow enough that Tony would have plenty of time to stop it from happening. When he didn’t move away, Bucky took hold of his left hand. “Yes. I still want you back.” He squeezed Tony’s fingers, and there was so much pain in his eyes that Tony had to look away. “I love you. Fuck, Tony, I’m so,  _so_  sorry. I didn’t… if I could go back and kick myself upside the head, I would, but…”

“Believe me, there’s plenty I’d change if time travel was an option,” Tony interrupted, sniffling. “But it doesn’t work like that. So, um. The thing with Ty—just so you know—that’s over. In case you’re worried, I always used protection, and I’ve been tested.” Tony let go of Bucky’s hand in order to grab a napkin, swiping at his nose, an odd finality washing over him when he realized it was bleeding. “Sorry, whatever I was snorting last night did a number on me.”

Bucky made a soft, wounded noise at this. “Tony…”

He looked up from his napkin and smiled. “I’m checking myself into rehab,” he announced. “Did some reading on the way over here. Found a ninety day program upstate that looks pretty good. I’m not going to talk to you while I’m there.”

“Is that part of…”

“I don’t know what their rules are on outside contact,” Tony interrupted, popping the last bit of sandwich into his mouth. “That’s a me decision. Rhodey’s right. I can’t just pretend the last two and a half years didn’t happen, Bucky.”

“No, I get it. I’m just… I’m a hypocrite, but I meant what I said, Tony. I’m not going anywhere. I need to earn back your trust, so… Fuck. I just hope you’ll consider talking to me after the ninety days.”

Tony looked away, spotted Rhodey through the glass, watching them. He gave a little wave, and Rhodey waved back. “Um. I think I’m gonna get going. Need to pack, make some arrangements with Pepper.”

Bucky looked panicked at the thought of Tony leaving. “Can I write to you?”

Tony thought of all the ways he’d tried to get in touch with Bucky, each time hoping and praying for something in return. Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers had it right; the waiting is the hardest part. The not knowing, the hours and days spent wondering where Bucky was, what he was doing, if he was okay. If he cared. If he even remembered what they’d had together. Feeling stranded in his own life. He might still love the guy, but the way he was currently feeling, Tony wasn’t above dishing out a sample of what he’d lived with for two years.

“It’s a free country. Send whatever you want. Maybe I’ll read it when I get back.”

Bucky was working very manfully on not crying as he slid out of the booth and came around to help him up. Cracking a bit, Tony allowed himself to be pulled in close, to press his face against Bucky’s neck, allowed himself to be held oh so carefully. Breathed in the scent of Bucky, felt his resolve slipping. It would be so easy to just give up.

“I love you,” Bucky said against his ear. “I’m so sorry, Tony. I didn’t… I never meant to hurt you, I just…”

“I’ll have Rhodey let you know if anything changes,” Tony said, stepping out of the embrace while he still could. He tossed another two hundred dollars onto the table, and didn’t look up, not trusting himself enough to see Bucky’s face. “Bye, Buck.”

The walk from their table to Rhodey’s side was somehow more painful than his injuries. With each step, the urge to turn around—to run back to Bucky, accept the apology and just shove all his bullshit down somewhere deep inside while hoping for the best—grew all consuming. It was a bad idea and he knew it. He was too fragile. If he really wanted to try making it work with Bucky, he needed to worry about himself first.

“We ready?” Rhodey asked, giving Tony’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Yeah. Got another favor to ask though. How do you feel about a road trip?”

+

For someone like him, rehab was a nightmare in the beginning. It wasn’t just the detox aspect of it all; that was nothing compared to the boredom. Sobriety meant being able to think again, and having too much free time did not help him whatsoever in this regard. He was pretty sure he was driving the staff crazy, but he certainly wasn’t the only eccentric asshole in the place, so he supposed they were used to it.

He spent time in one on one therapy sessions, in group meetings, in group activities, and doing whatever chores he could handle while healing up. He’d purposefully avoided one of those rich dick spa rehab centers; he didn’t need to lounge on a beach, he needed help before he wound up accidentally killing himself.

One of the hardest parts was knowing he could leave at any time. During the first three weeks he probably packed his bags every day, but he never made it out of his room. Spent hours staring at the door, telling himself it was okay to quit. At first, he only stayed because of Rhodey and Pepper and the way they’d look at him when they found out he’d left. Then it was because of Bucky. Eventually, he stopped packing altogether, and his reasons for staying were only for himself.

His therapist sympathized with his boredom, and once the cast was off he suddenly found himself with a new list of chores. Doing maintenance around the place was probably the most satisfying work he’d done since hooking up with Ty. Using his hands to fix things, taking things apart and putting them back together was as close to zen as he was going to get.

When he ran out of things to fix or upgrade, he asked for pens and paper and began working on some projects of his own. It was strange not having JARVIS, or being able to run everything through a simulation, but that kind of made it more fun in a way. He was looking forward to actually building something again, but he doubted anyone wanted him setting up a fabrication shop on the premises.

The first time he got through a therapy session without mentioning Bucky, he felt oddly proud of himself. It wasn’t like he’d censored himself, either, he’d just… He hadn’t been obsessively thinking about him, and that was  _nice_. Tony hadn’t actually realized how much of his day to day thinking and feeling and doing had been wrapped up in Bucky until he started to stop, and focus on himself instead.

He looked better, too. There were going to be scars on his back, but his hand had healed up okay, as had the rib and the rest. The sickly pallor was gone, and he’d put on a bit of the weight he’d lost, most of it in muscle. Exercise was going a big way toward helping with his restlessness, and his moods, and he eventually threw some yoga into the mix when one of the other patients accused him of being physically incapable of staying still or quiet for more than thirty seconds.

Still, with all the improvements, a lot of the time—especially during that first month—he still felt like shit. He wanted a drink, he wanted to get out of his own head and body, he wanted Bucky. But slowly, somewhere along the way, he started to think he could actually live without all of those things, and even be okay doing it. When he’d first arrived, he couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror. Now he tended to stare, because he actually recognized the guy he saw there. When he smiled, it was because he  _wanted_  to smile, not because he was faking it for someone.

After sixty days, he was allowed to have visitors, which was nerve wracking right up until he saw Pepper and Rhodey. There was a lot of crying, and hugging, and catching up on their lives, and he could tell by the way Pepper kept touching him and smiling and dabbing at her eyes that he wasn’t deluding himself about looking better.

She assured him everything was fine with the company, and took the various plans and schematics he’d sketched up, promised to scan them into JARVIS for him. He took them on a tour, introduced them to everybody.

When it grew closer to the time for them to leave, Tony sat them down under his favorite tree and thanked them for caring when he was too messed up to do it for himself.

“Tony, we love you,” Pepper gushed, and that only led to a big group crying and hugging situation, which Tony wasn’t even going to pretend he didn’t enjoy. “It’s just so good to see you happy again. That’s the best thank you we could ever get.”

Rhodey took him aside before they left, and Tony could tell by his expression that it had something to do with Bucky.

“I wasn’t sure whether I should give these to you,” he said, popping the trunk and fishing out a bundle of letters. Immediately, Tony’s heart began to race. “He’s been staying in touch. We might’ve had lunch once or twice.”

“Wow. Not sure if I even want to know how that went.”

Rhodey grinned wolfishly. “Probably not. Steve started chaperoning after the first time. He sends his love, by the way. Says he’s proud of you.” Oddly enough, that actually felt really good to hear. He’d always respected Steve.

Rhodey tapped the bundle of letters against his palm, then held them up. “Bucky brought these to our last lunch. The other ones he’s been sending to your place, like you asked. If you want, I can grab those for you the next time we visit.”

“Um, maybe,” Tony answered, confused. He’d assumed  _those_  were the letters Bucky had sent to his place. He reached for the bundle, and Rhodey pulled them back, his eyes narrowing.

“You sure you want them? Only reason I brought them along is because Pepper pointed out it might be better for you to have them while you still had twenty-four hour access to therapy.”

Tony snatched them out of Rhodey’s hand, not breaking eye contact. “I’ll give them to Dr. Armstead to hold onto for me if I can’t handle them.”

“Alright then. I love you, man.”

Rhodey pulled him into a hug, and Tony hugged back as hard as he could. “Love you too, honeybear.”

Tony took the letters back to his room, put them in one of his drawers, and then went off to see if they needed any prep help in the kitchen. He wanted to spend the rest of his day reading whatever Bucky had written, but at the same time he wanted to prove to himself that he could  _not_  do that. He was going to need the practice for once he was back in the real world, anyway.

He got caught up in the gossip with the kitchen staff, then went to group, then continued on like it was any normal day, so that by the time he got back to his room that night, he’d actually forgotten about the letters entirely. He opened the drawer to grab a clean shirt and saw them there, felt his heart race with excitement and surprise.

Feeling as if his little experiment had been a success, Tony grabbed the first off the top, ripped it open, and then he couldn’t breathe. Even if Bucky hadn’t scrawled the date in the corner Tony would have known this was written years ago. He skimmed it, then ripped open the next few, going through enough of them to confirm his suspicions.

They were replies. Each and every letter in the stack was the reply Bucky had written to one of Tony’s letters. They stopped somewhere into the second year, which wasn’t too surprising. Part of him was elated to know that Bucky had not only read his letters, but had actually written replies, while the rest of him was furious that the asshole had never sent them.

Conflicted, Tony went back to the beginning and started reading. Once he started it was hard to stop. Bucky’s handwriting was even worse than normal, scrawled into the pages as if he couldn’t get the words down fast enough. Some things were scratched out, so that many of the sentences made little sense. It was obvious Bucky was in pain while writing them. Physical, emotional, psychological pain.

There were recurring themes throughout.

_I love you, but I hate what’s left of me._

_I miss you, but I can’t stand the idea of you seeing me like this._

_You deserve better than me._

_I wish I had died._

The letters were how Tony learned about the issues Bucky had with phantom limb pain. That at some point Steve had to take over doling out his medication because he no longer trusted Bucky to use the painkillers responsibly. No wonder Steve had looked so stressed out during their lunches together.

After the first time seeing it, months passed before Bucky would even look at the stump again. It took him a full year before he could manage to face himself in the mirror without hurting himself or lashing out at someone else. During that time it’d fallen on Steve to take care of the practicalities of dealing with what was left of Bucky’s arm as it healed, and as he adjusted to wearing a prosthetic.

None of that helped when it came to practicalities. He needed to learn how to do things one handed without losing patience with himself, something he seemed to still be struggling with even when Tony reached the end of the letters. Bucky had been incredibly reticent to wear a prosthetic, talked a lot about how much he hated the clean, plastic look of it. Steve had offered to recreate the tattoos he’d lost, airbrush them on for him, and Bucky had thrown the thing out the window in a fit of rage.

Anger was another recurring theme. He was furious with himself for having been in the accident in the first place, even though the other driver had been at fault. At times he expressed anger at Tony and Steve for still being whole. He was also angry at them for not giving up on him, which was painful to read. He’d managed to piss off a string of physical therapists to such an extent that they refused to work with him.

No matter what it was he was writing, it was obvious to Tony that Bucky had been drowning in self-loathing. Tony knew a thing or two about depression, about being in pain. That Bucky had been in a bad place didn’t negate the pain he’d caused Tony by shutting him out, but it helped knowing what Bucky had been going through. He was still furious that Bucky hadn’t let him help, but he could understand  _why_ he’d done what he’d done. He could sympathize. He hadn’t wanted anyone to help him, either, not until it was almost too late.

After talking with Dr. Armstead about everything he’d read, and how he felt, Tony took a day or two to think it over, then got permission to use the phone. His first call was to ask Rhodey to bring the other letters the next time he visited. Once they’d caught up, he stood for a couple minutes with the receiver in his hand, but then took a deep breath, and made his second call.

“Hello?”

Tony almost hung up just from the shock of hearing Bucky’s voice again. “Hey.”

“Tony!” That made him happy he hadn’t disconnected the call. Bucky sounded elated. “Are you… Uh, no, I mean,  _shit_. Were you actually looking for Steve? Or, um. Hi! How are you?”

It was strange to find himself grinning ear to ear, but he was doing just that. “Wow, that was  _almost_  as smooth as the first time I called you.”

Bucky exhaled in a rush, but then he was laughing at himself. “Pretty sure that was way lamer.”

“Yeah, that time I could hear the blush through the telephone,” Tony said, closing his eyes and summoning up the mental image of a teenaged Bucky. Tony had expected him to be a bad boy, but it’d turned out the punk was almost tooth rottingly sweet.

“Well, I was still sort of in shock that you’d talked to me in the first place,” Bucky answered. “And I handled that exchange so smoothly that I figured you’d never actually call for that ride.”

Tony hugged himself a little, a flurry of conflicting emotions battling for his attention. “Still happy I did?” he asked softly.

“Yeah, Tony. ‘Course I am.” It sounded like Bucky was having as much trouble keeping it together as Tony was. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Got your letters,” Tony said once he could get his mouth to work again. He brushed hurriedly at his eyes, looking around to make sure no one was waiting for the phone, or watching him. “Wish you’d sent them back when you wrote them, but, um. Better late than never, right?”

“Shoulda been stronger for you,” Bucky almost whispered, and Tony was possessed with an overwhelming need to climb through the phone and hug him. There was a sigh, and Bucky cleared his throat. “Forget about my shit, how are  _you_  doing?”

“Better. Cast is off and I no longer look like I lost a fight with a wolverine. Crazy as it sounds, I’m actually enjoying sobriety at this point. Makes dealing with shit a little easier, oddly enough. It’s, ah. It’s been really good for me, coming here.”

“Good,” Bucky said, “I’m glad.”

Tony started to say, “Are you still going to group?” but Bucky was still talking, blurting, “It’s so good to hear your voice again,” then, “Uh, shit, sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, just… This is still a little weird. A good kinda weird, though.”

“Yeah?”

“What’re you wearing?” Bucky burst out laughing, one of the big, full body laughs. Tony had no trouble imaging the look on his face, and was grinning into the phone again. “What, c’mon, I have a lot of free time here.”

“Got on that old Clash t-shirt you always teased me about,” Bucky answered, the smile back in his voice.

“It’s still in one piece? Unbelievable. I thought for sure it would have disintegrated by now.”

“It’s, um, actually the first time I’ve worn it since before the accident,” Bucky said, an undercurrent of vulnerability audible in his voice. “Sam kinda challenged me to try wearing something with short sleeves, since it’s ninety degrees and humid as fuck outside, and I was walking around in a hoodie.”

“Sam sounds smart.” Tony had no problem summoning a mental image of Bucky in the shirt, but was having a bit of trouble replacing his arm with the prosthetic. “Sorry I’m missing that.”

“Me too,” Bucky all but whispered. “But I’m sorta just happy that you’re still talking to me at all, so I’ll try not to be greedy.”

“I need to wrap it up, actually,” Tony said as one of the staff members walked by tapping their watch. “I had to get permission to use the phone in the first place.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Bucky stammered, sounding disappointed, but trying to hide it. “I understand.”

“Rhodey said you’ve been sending stuff to the penthouse, but, um, you can send them here instead. He can give you the address. He’s going to bring the others the next time he visits.”

“Okay! Uh, good.”

Tony worried at his lower lip, then glanced over his shoulder before continuing. “Hey, keep up with the group and everything, okay? Maybe send a picture of yourself in that t-shirt so I have something pretty to look at while I’m here.”

Bucky exhaled in a rush, so Tony was a little surprised when he said. “I will. Promise.”

“Alright, sorry, I’m getting death glares over here.”

“No, it’s fine,” Bucky swore. “Take care of yourself, Tony. I love you.”

Yeah, and there was no denying how good that felt to hear. “Love you, too. Bye.”

His hands were shaking a bit as he hung up the receiver, and his heart was racing, but he felt good. Better than good, he felt the way he’d wanted to feel after orchestrating his run in with Bucky months ago. Like there was hope for them.

True to his word, Bucky sent along an actual physical photograph of himself in the infamous Clash t-shirt, along with a note saying how nice it was getting to talk again. Tony wondered if he’d made Steve take a hundred photos before picking one out to send, or had only let him do the one.

He looked uncomfortable and vulnerable, like he didn’t know what to do with himself other than stand there, staring mournfully into the camera. It was breathtaking, actually. Lips curled at the edges in a hopeful, sad little smile. He needed to shave, and it looked like he hadn’t cut his hair since the last time Tony had taken him by force to his stylist, but he was achingly beautiful nonetheless.

Tony wrote back, thanking Bucky for the photo, reassuring him that it didn’t scare him, without coming right out and saying that. He did find himself thinking of the talks he and Steve had had about building better prosthetics than what was currently available, and had a lot of long talks with Dr. Armstead about everything he was thinking and feeling on the subject.

He caught up on Bucky’s letters, sent off a few of his own, and was a little surprised by how soon his time was running out. Part of him was tempted to see if he could stay another month, but at the same time he got the feeling that wasn’t what he actually needed.

There was a whole world and a future waiting for him out there, and for the first time in ages he was actually looking forward to experiencing it. He didn’t need to do it on his own, either. Dr. Armstead had already given him a couple recommendations of group meetings and counselors he felt would be a good match.

It was scary, but also exciting, especially when he called Rhodey to arrange for a ride back to the city.

“We got your place all cleaned up and ready for you, by the way.”

“As in you dumped all the booze?”

Rhodey laughed. “I was talking more about the actual physical mess, but yeah, the booze is gone. Didn’t dump it all, took a few things for myself.”

Tony felt almost like that night had happened to someone else, so he took a moment to study the scars on his hand, and remind himself that it’d all been real, and all him.

“Good man.”

“Hey, uh, Pepper and I were thinking maybe we could all have dinner, sort of a welcome home thing?”

“Yeah, sure, that sounds good.”

There was a pause, then Rhodey surprised him. “Should I invite Bucky and Steve?”

Tony had already been formulating the least awkward way to ask if Bucky would be there, so it was nice of Rhodey to save him the trouble. It was also promising. Tony knew their lunches together had continued, so Rhodey must be feeling much less like punching Bucky in the face if he was willing to have dinner with him.

“That’d be great, actually.”

“Alright, then. See you tomorrow for pick up.”

+

He had trouble sleeping the night before, and his goodbyes with everyone at the center was emotionally draining, so he actually wound up napping a good bit of the ride home. Tony half expected to feel the old anxiety creep over him as soon as he saw the city, but instead returning was almost anticlimactic.

The penthouse was the same as it ever was, the best thing about it being JARVIS. Anyone walking through the place wouldn’t have a clue as to who lived there. No photos, no keepsakes. Sterile and expensive.

Even though he didn’t have a lot of good childhood memories there, Tony had been giving a lot of thought to moving back into the mansion. Getting JARVIS installed and a proper workshop set up there might be a nice project as he eased back into things. The only thing keeping him from doing it was the emptiness of the place.

For now, he focused on unpacking, showering in his own home, dressing and wandering through the place, eventually diving headfirst in the SI updates Pepper had left for him. He was so engrossed he jumped out of his skin when JARVIS interrupted to let him know Rhodey was there to pick him up for dinner.

Part of him wanted to put on a suit, get all gussied up, but instead he stuck with the jeans and t-shirt he’d put on after his shower, grabbed a jacket, and headed down.

“Do I look okay?” he asked as he slid into the passenger seat.

Rhodey rolled his eyes. “You look healthy. Don’t worry about it.”

“That means I should go change.” Rhodey pulled away from the curb before Tony could get out of the car, so he huffed and buckled up. “Hey, Pepper has been doing an amazing job while I’ve been gone. Do you think she’d hit me if I made her CEO?”

The car jerked minutely, but then Rhodey recovered. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious, why wouldn’t I be serious?”

Rhodey shook his head. “I don’t think she’d hit you hard.”

“Good enough. I’ll ask her later, once she’s all full of whatever the hell we’re having for dinner.”

Tony jumped in surprise when he felt Rhodey’s hand pat him on the knee. “It’s good to have you back, Tone.”

“I missed you, too, honeybear.”

“No, I mean  _back_. This is…”

“I knew what you meant,” Tony interrupted, but he gave Rhodey’s hand a squeeze before he needed to take it back for shifting. “Before you ask, I already made an appointment with the new therapist. And I have a group thing I’ll be going to.”

“Good to know.”

“I’m gonna be okay, Rhodey.”

“I know you are.”

Tony studied his profile, and smiled to himself. Rhodey was being dead serious. The vote of confidence was heartwarming.

“I’m nervous about seeing him,” Tony admitted. “A good sort of nervous.”

“I know that, too. Believe me, he’s just as nervous. Maybe more.”

And sure enough, when they pulled up, Bucky and Steve were standing outside of the restaurant, as if they didn’t know whether or not they should go in. As soon as he caught sight of Bucky, Tony’s heart leapt, and he felt himself smile. Rhodey just muttered under his breath and shook his head, while Tony got out of the car as quickly as possible before his nerves got the better of him.

Steve spotted him first, and Bucky noticed, turned to look, then froze, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open just a bit. Tony wanted to laugh, because it was almost the spitting image of how Bucky had looked the first time Tony had mustered enough courage to walk over and hit on the sexy punk he’d been eyeballing for months.

He took a deep breath, preparing himself to walk over one more time, but Bucky was already moving, meeting him halfway.

“You look great,” Bucky blurted, his eyes still a little wide. “How much have you been working out?”

Tony looked down at himself, then back up through his lashes, smiling as he shrugged. “Had a lot of free time to fill.”

Bucky seemed so distracted by Tony’s appearance that he’d neglected to be self conscious about the prosthetic. It wasn’t a shirt Tony recognized, but it was short sleeved, the prosthetic plainly visible. It made him incredibly proud, even though he wanted to take the thing apart and make it a thousand times better.

“Are you two idiots going to stare at each other all night, or are we going to eat?” Rhodey asked, slapping Tony on the back before heading into the restaurant.

“Welcome home, Tony,” Steve called, giving a wave as he followed Rhodey inside.

“I was kinda enjoying being an idiot,” Bucky said, ducking his head.

“We’ll have plenty of time for that. Come on, before they actually get annoyed.”

Bucky held the door for him, which made Tony smile. Sure enough, when they got inside there were only two open seats and they were next to each other. Tony made a detour to hug Pepper before taking his seat, Bucky right there at his side, just like old times.

It was never going to be like it was, but Tony was beginning to think that might be a good thing. If it worked out this time around, he was pretty sure it’d be forever. He liked the sound of that, but he wasn’t about to throw away all the hard work he’d done over the last ninety days. He’d take things one day at a time, see what happened.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t hope for the best, or enjoy himself along the way.

The night went by too fast, everyone keeping the conversation flowing, which was a lot easier once there was the distraction of Pepper freaking out over being made CEO of SI.

When there was a chance, he and Bucky chatted quietly.

“Hey, um, Sam said you could come with me to group sometime. Uh, you know. If you wanted to.”

“Yeah, I could do that. I’ve got my first meeting in two days. Have to see if I like it. Armstead gave me a couple places to check out if that doesn’t work out.”

“Listen to us, all mature and dealing with our problems,” Bucky joked, leaning in close. His smile was so achingly familiar it was hard not to just lean over that last little bit and kiss him.

“Missed that smile,” he said instead.

“Nice having a reason to use it again.” Bucky ducked his head, but then lifted it again and looked Tony in the eyes. “We’re gonna be okay, I think.”

“Definitely,” Tony agreed, reaching down and taking hold of the prosthetic hand, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s. “We’ve got a second chance. More than most people get.”

“Guess we better not fuck it up then,” Bucky said, his eyes welling up. Tony was almost surprised when the prosthetic fingers carefully tightened around his own. Bucky’s voice was thick with emotion when he spoke again. “Maybe we can have lunch next week, if you’re up to it.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Tony realized the other conversations had died down and everyone was watching them. He opened his mouth to make a joke, but just let it slide. Steve, Pepper, and Rhodey were all smiling, a little wistful, maybe even approvingly.

He kept hold of Bucky’s hand until it was time to leave, letting go reluctantly so he could put on his jacket and head outside. Everyone thanked each other, he hugged Pepper and Steve, noticing the way everyone carefully retreated, giving them a moment together.

“This was really nice,” Tony said. “Would have gone into rehab earlier if I’d known this was what the welcome home would have been like.”

Bucky just groaned at the joke, stepping closer. “You’re awful, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you love me.”

Bucky smiled broadly, his eyes suspiciously bright. “That I do. Can I give you a hug?”

Tony opened his arms and sighed contentedly at the feeling of Bucky wrapping him up tight. It was different with the prosthetic, but that was okay. He was different, too. He liked this hug, liked the two people doing the hugging.

“I’ll call you soon about lunch,” Tony promised, then pushed up on his tiptoes and brushed his lips over Bucky’s. Just a chaste ghost of a kiss, but it was enough to send his heart beating wildly.

Bucky beamed down at him, pink in the cheeks and smiling. He’d looked a little like that the first time Tony had kissed him, too.

“Talk to you soon.”

“Yup,” Tony said, walking away while he still could.

He glanced over his shoulder, found Bucky still standing there, watching him, wondered if he even realized his fingers were touching his lower lip. Tony smiled, gave a little wave, and slid into the passenger seat of Rhodey’s car.

“Great, now I gotta go through this a second time?”

“What?”

“Don’t what me. We all saw you two mooning over each other.”

Tony just laughed. “Shut up. You’re happy about it.”

“Yeah, well, if he hurts you again he’s answering to me,” Rhodey grumbled. “Same goes for you hurting him.”

“Listen to you. We’re not even together,” Tony pointed out.

“Yet.”

Tony brushed his fingers across his lips, his heart aching for entirely pleasant reasons. Rhodey was right, they’d get there before too long. He wasn’t fooling himself; it’d take time before he was able to completely trust Bucky again, and it’d also take time for Bucky to become comfortable in any sort of physical relationship, but they’d get there. One day at a time, together, they’d get there.

“Yet,” he agreed with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr here: [dezinformatsia.tumblr.com/](http://dezinformatsia.tumblr.com/) and all of my Imagine Tony & Bucky fills can be found here: [imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com/tagged/dezinformatsia](http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com/tagged/dezinformatsia)


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